Emotional Residue
by LoveOfLiterature
Summary: I wonder if this is residual after all. This force and depth of alien emotion cannot be the shadow of a dead man’s spirit passing quickly through my undead body. .../Hanna Rated for language.


Okay, I am really sorry for not finishing my other fic yet, but I have GOT to get some of this out of my system! I found this comic about a week ago and have since read it through about four times, skimming it countlessly. And I. Love. (…). And. Hanna.

I know, I know. Jeez Veronica, not even a little original? Come on! Well I get my slash from the content. I don't ship impossibilities because I LOVE showing people "See! Right there! They are sooo gay together!" I'm a lost cause.

And …/Hanna is the ship that's sailing me away.

Oh and if you do not get the name changes you clearly have not read the comic and need to do so RIGHT NOW.

Characters © Tessa Stone but the fic is mine. :D

* * *

My eyes dart towards the door of the apartment that I am currently residing as the knob decides whether or not it wants to turn. When it finally comes to a decision in the positive my eyes return to my cooking. _Very_ recently expired Canadian bacon and mashed potatoes.

I feel rather secretly pleased with myself for finding wild onion and garlic in the graveyard to add a little flavor to the potatoes. But I digress.

The point is that Hanna is home from working his rather odd shift at the department store. I don't remember much of his grumbling, but I believe something about inventory was mentioned. Again my eyes move to the doorway. The young man is standing there with his eyes closed, breathing.

"Are you okay?"

A pair of pale blue orbs open, roll dramatically, and lock onto my own worried gaze…not without a large goofy grin growing instantly. "Jeez Galileo, I'm fine man. Just admiring your cooking…again."

The redhead's grin falters momentarily when my expression does not soften, but I cannot help it. The residual feelings from the possession in the theater a while back had just passed through me momentarily. Why had that just happened? Perhaps Hanna's eyes are just so similarly colored to the shade of the dead man's aura…

"Rudolf? You still with me, man?"

I remember to blink then, and renew my expression into one fitting for the moment. "Yes. The food is almost ready," is all I have to say for the moment. The doc had checked me out himself and announced that (as we all already knew) I was dead. Nothing he could do for me. No need to confide such a random occurrence to Hanna. He already felt guilty for all of that.

I busy myself with finishing Hanna's meal for a few moments, listening to the shuffling of the other occupant finding a level place to set his computer so that he may sit on the chair to eat. He had attempted eating on his 'bed' once or twice, but I quickly put an end to that when he woke up with so many roaches crawling under his sheets.

Finally, the food is prepared.

I carefully give the redhead his plate and move to sit on the floor across the 'office'. I have almost selected the safest location to sit when I hear an exasperated huff. "Constantine, you know you can sit on my bed. It would be more comfortable."

I eye the mattress dubiously, one eyebrow raised. But, who am I to decline a friendly invitation. I sit carefully down on the very edge, feeling strange. This is Hanna's space. His area. A bed is a place of comfort and vulnerability. I do not belong here. But he offered, and who am I to decline? Unfortunately he notices my wondering eyes across his 'bed'.

"Does it smell bad?" he asks uncertainly, mouth full of potato. His brows are knit together. His smile is gone. This cannot be allowed. My protectiveness possesses me again. Mission: do not let Hanna hurt.

"No Hanna. I am just unused to not sitting on the floor."

His eyes soften a little and a grin forms. Mission classified: successful. "So what did _you_ do today? Did Connie ever come by?"

Despite myself I feel my bored expression lace with irritation. "No. No one has come by all day or this evening. It has been unusually quiet." It's not that I dislike Conrad. I reserve judgment for someone far more worthy than myself. The vampire could even be considered mine and Hanna's responsibility, but…

"How was work?" I venture. If Hanna is talking perhaps I may travel away from my own thoughts for a while. I was right.

"Oh yunno, same ol' same ol'. These hours suck, though. Cut into investigation hours, right? But tonight I was up on the top shelf counting china when…" The tiny twenty-four year old precedes to tell me of his adventure involving saving a baby bird from certain doom in the metal rafters of the ceiling. I decide that Hanna could make an adventure out of doing the dishes.

-----

A few days pass with no guests and Hanna's crazy work schedule. I walk by everyone's residences every day while my partner is gone and nothing seems to be unusual. Veser is usually just loafing at the park. He always has a remark when he sees me, and I always wonder if he is waiting for anyone. Conrad has been working on a commission for a few days now from what I can tell from Toni, who almost always takes a quick break from rehearsals to say hi when she notices me.

Toni has always seemed to like me, and has never thought my appearance strange or in any way unnerving, which is refreshing. I must admit that her being 'one of us' takes a little charm out of the situation, but she is by far the friendliest girl I know.

But right now I am sitting on the floor of Hanna's apartment in the dark, trying to let Hanna fall asleep. He isn't being very cooperative, though. He keeps grumbling and asking if I'm still here every couple of minutes. I finally tell him I will stay all night if that's what he wishes.

He does.

"Why hasn't anyone come by, Alejandro? You think they're alright?" he finally asks. Ah, the heart of the storm. I see.

"Yes, Toni apologizes for not being able to make it, but, and I quote, she actually has a show on Tuesday and she hopes we can make it and will be over as soon as she can. She also told me Conrad is working and Veser is being a delinquent. Everyone's fine, Hanna." I actually don't remember saying so much at once. But Hanna would have demanded _all_ the information anyway. However, what I thought would be relief clearly is not the result of my detailed and very helpful information.

"You saw them and they _still_ didn't wanna come hang?" A desperate misery drips from these personal words that stir something in me. Is it a lost memory…or something else?

"Toni said they would visit soon," I answer simply, but this does not seem to be enough. Hanna just rolls over on his mattress and curls the blankets more tightly around himself. Maybe he is just going to go to sleep. I turn back to my book again, wondering if I will get to the bottom of the page this time. Not that I care so much. _Wuthering Heights_ has never been my personal favorite. But it was around the office tonight so it is what I have.

"Yunno," comes a soft, ragged voice a few minutes later, "I guess it _is_ my fault…and you don't have to stay here if you don't wanna…if you'd rather go for a walk…"

Somehow my dead heart clinches and a softer version of the haunting feelings bloom in my cold chest, followed closely by concern. I will have to meditate on this in more detail when the current crisis has been diverted. "What's your fault?" I ask carefully.

"I fuck up everything around me. I almost killed Connie, allowed your arm to be ripped off your own body, Toni didn't even take me seriously when we met. My parents…and I've never even had a girlfriend. Fuck Jacques, I've never even gotten laid. I'm a failure as a person…So why are you here?"

I feel as though I have been struck. I came to this place, this job, this man because I wanted to make my own memories. New memories, ones I could hold on to and treasure. Was Hanna…was he…? "I am your partner, Hanna. I'm here to keep you out of trouble," _though I do a very poor job_ floats unspoken through my rotting brain.

"No one has ever cared about me, _really_ cared. Why do you?" I almost don't catch the last words, they are so quietly whispered, but they pour over me like a balm. He does want me here. He doesn't want me to leave.

The emotions that this realization evokes are very unsettling and uncomfortable. I give myself a moment to regroup, keeping my eyes locked on the tiny figure curled tightly in a mound of blankets, but he speaks again before I can reassure him about anything. "I don't even know what love is. Pretty lame, huh?" he chuckles despondently from safely under the mound.

"Hanna, I know what love is," discomfiting, "and so do you," I reply seriously. How can he not when I frequently have recurring emotional backlash even months later?

In the darkness I see his head pop out of the mound, eyes are huge surprised orbs, and blushing furiously, like I have just caught him in some unmentionable act. As his vision gets used to the darkness he notices my glowing eyes turned on him and drops his normally carefree gaze.

"Y-yea? Whadooya mean?" he mumbles.

"The ghost. When it passed through us it transferred its emotional residue, right?" I answer uncertainly, though I sound bored. Something is strange and different and utterly _new _and is it good or bad and did I answer right and is this what it feels like to be Hanna?

Apparently my answer is wrong because the redhead falters on some unknown variable, then grins in the darkness. But I've been here for a while now. I know Hanna's smiles, his eyes, his moods. Hanna is faking it. "Y-yea. I guess you're right. You're always right Darcy…"

Before I can ask what's wrong, he rolls back over with a rushed "Well, goodnight."

And I'm sitting there dumbfounded. And for once I'm glad I am dead, with no tears or sweat or pulse. Because…what just happened? Why do I feel all wrong, like my glowing eyes should be puffy and my dead hands should be sweating? Maybe I _do_ need to go for a walk…

"…Virgil?" the room whispers.

I swallow nothing and blink again. "Yea Hanna…"

"…I'm…I'm sorry I went all schoolgirl and shit on you. I'll make it up to you, I promise…And…never mind…" He is drifting now and soon I'll be able to get away from this mortal who is so different and strange and _wonderful_.

"What Hanna?"

"…Well…it's…I…will you sit by me tonight? Up here?"

And I'm frozen because yes. Yes I will sit by you tonight. I will sit by you tomorrow night, too, if that's what you want. I'll sit by you forever.

Without responding verbally, I carefully slide up the wall to stand and creep carefully next to the mattress. After I judge where the likeliest places my partner's limbs may be, I sit carefully next to him, visually making sure the blanket is covering his body adequately. It is.

Then he presses his back into my side. And I put my hand lightly on his shoulder as I tilt my head to better gaze at his face, eyes closed, mouth relaxed, content.

I wonder if this is residual after all. This force and depth of alien emotion cannot be the shadow of a dead man's spirit passing quickly through my undead body. And if it's not…what about Hanna? What does he feel like right now?

I believe I love this man. In a way that I do not remember ever feeling. And if I had ever before, wouldn't I remember something this intense? When did this happen? How?

Next to me, Hanna begins to snore.

* * *

Despite my absolute adoration for this couple, I cannot bring myself to sex things up. … is dead. Who knows if _that_ even works, you know? Not. Even. Gonna. Go. There.

But love? Damn right it's there. … has got it bad. Does Hanna? Hanna loves everyone. Oh, and I love the thought of these two being dirt poor and … foraging to feed Hanna.

NotsayingIdon'teatupHINABNsexytimes. I just cannot write it…

Also, I also really appreciate the Spock/Kirk pairing, and I see those two characters in these somewhat. So I feel like I may have warped …'s speech a little. Sorry about that.


End file.
